


I Like Your Pants

by wheresmywatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote this, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, but do you really care about technicalities?, but the sex is in the second chapter, it's really crazy, mystrade, okay so now that I've written the second chapter I do have to say it's not technically sex, this fic was built on a foundation of laughter and sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheresmywatson/pseuds/wheresmywatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Greg go for a drink at the pub and find themselves quite inebriated by the time they try to go home. A certain Government Official and Consulting Detective help them out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before you plunge in, I'd like to warn you that these characters occasionally act OOC.
> 
> What can I say, alcohol is involved.

 "Oh god, don't let me have another drink," John giggled as he sat on the bar stool beside Greg, his eyes closed as he tried to control himself from laughing too hard. One of his hands was holding the edge of the bar, his other covered the top half of his face in embarrassment. "Next thing you know I-I'll be telling you about his singing in the shower."

Greg was watching him with an amused smile of his own and slapped a hand on his back. "Don't worry, mate, I'm not gonna tell him you like his pants."

"Pants!" John snorted, his hand slipping off the bench as he lost himself to a louder round of laughing and brought Greg with him this time.

It wasn't long before they were politely told they'd had enough and that they should head home for the night, so they stumbled outside with goofy grins on their faces and tried not to look at each other lest they burst into laughter once more.

"Can you imagine his face, though?" Greg heaved, leaning against the closest building to catch his breath. John joined him but was bent forward with his hands just above his knees, shaking his head at the ground as though it had personally offended him. "'Hey Sherlock, we've been sharing a flat for a while now and I just thought you sh-should knowI _like_ _your pants!'_ "

Their renewed laughter could be heard over in the next street and John had to sit himself down because he was shaking so much.

After a few more minutes passed, Greg slid down beside John and their laughing died away.

"I am _drunk_ ," John emphasised as he turned to look at Greg, a silly grin still on his face.

"You only had a pint more than me." Greg chuckled and reached for John's pocket, searching his the man's phone without asking. He was also rather drunk, but didn't feel that it needed saying. "You should text Sherlock."

"What?" John asked, looking down at Greg's hand and batting it away so he could retrieve his phone himself. "Why would I do that? His pants can't text me back." A snort left his mouth and he almost lost himself to his giggles again before taking a deep breath and relaxing.

"No, but I really think you should tell him," Greg said. "I dare you."

"Oh so now you think you're tough for daring me, do you?" John asked, raising an eyebrow at the other man. "I can very dare as easily as anyone can dare. Wait..."

With a laugh, Greg pointed to John's phone again. "Just text him."

Doing as he was told, John went into his messages to compose a new one, his fingers slipping occasionally as he chuckled to himself.

_Sherl I like you rpants. JW_

"Good?" he asked, holding it up for Greg to see before pressing send.

"No, no," Greg said quickly, taking the phone from him to edit the message. "He'll know you're drunk if you send that. You have to be _discreet_." Fixing John's errors and adding a bit extra, Greg continued to mutter to himself. "Dis _creet_. Discretion."

_Sherlock I would rather like to see your pants. JW_

"Yes, better," John agreed when Greg showed him. "Send it."

Greg pressed send and the two men giggled to themselves again, trying to picture Sherlock's face upon reading it.

"Sherlock thinks you like his brother," John said as he took his phone back. "I didn't think you knew each other well but apparently you do."

"No." Greg shook his head, but his face flushed darker and John's eyes lit up excitedly when he noticed. "No! We talk sometimes but it's nothing like that. He just wants me to look out for Sherlock. He called him a puppy."

They disappeared into laughter for a few minutes again until John remembered what he'd been saying and turned to Greg quickly, grabbing his arm.

"D'you wanna fuck him?"

"No! Of course not!"

"I think you do. I mean I probably would if Sherlock wasn't around." John stared into the distance with a wistful expression.

"You'd have sex with Mycroft?" Greg seemed torn between confusion and jealousy.

"Well he's got this air of authority, you know? He's completely in control all the time and I think he'd probably be able to put me in my place." John licked his lips. "Maybe he'd tie me up..."

"Alright, shut up. I get the point. Yes, I want to have sex with him." Greg folded his arms, glancing over at John as the man started giggling again. "What?"

"I really don't like Mycroft. I just wanted to make you jealous."

"Git," Greg snapped, but smiled.

John's phone suddenly buzzed in his hand and he yelped in surprise.

_John, are you inebriated? SH_

"Oh, come on. I told you we had to be discreet!" Greg whined as he looked over to read the message as well.

"But you wrote that one!" John reminded him.

"You'll have to fess up. Ask him to come and get you."

Looking up at Greg with a frown, John said, "But this is fun. I don't want to go home yet."

"You are pissed, mate," Greg laughed. "We both are. Get Sherlock to take you home and I'll call a cab or something. Good thing it's a Sunday tomorrow or I'd be screwed."

"Better yet, why don't you call Mycroft so you _can_ be screwed?"

Greg hit him over the head and John laughed, trying to send a message to Sherlock at the same time. It didn't turn out quite the way he had hoped it would, but he pressed send anyway.

_Cojme nxt the pubh. JW_

Once that was done, he quickly began typing a new message, angling his phone away from Greg so the curious man couldn't see what he was doing.

_Gred wants to F U C K youu. JW_

Sending it to Mycroft, he chuckled and dropped his phone into his lap.

"You're screwed."

"What did you do?" Greg panicked, grabbing John's phone to check the sent messages. John let him, smiling as he leaned his head back against the wall with his eyes closed. "No, oh no. Why did you do that? You... you can't even spell my name!"

Greg found it hard to stay furious while he was laughing, so he gave up and returned John's phone to his lap. Really, though, what was the worst that could happen?

"Tell me about the shower," Greg said as they continued to sit there, now waiting for Sherlock to come pick John up.

"What shower?" John asked.

"You said Sherlock sings in the shower."

"Oh! Oh my god yes. He's like hermaphrodite." John giggled.

Greg stared at him.

"He is!"

"You think he's got boobs because he sings in the shower?" Greg asked.

"What the fuck?"

"You said he's like a hermaphrodite! That's someone with male and female private bits."

Slapping his hand to his mouth so fast it slid up to jar his nose painfully, John stared at Greg while shaking his head.

"I meant... I meant aphrodite. The goddess. I meant he sings like a goddess."

Greg managed a small, "Oh," before the two of them were set off into laughter all over again. They were laughing so hard they didn't even notice the car pull up until there were two figures standing in front of them.

"Sh-Sherlock?" John asked as he looked up at the man. "Hey, mate. Grown a pair of boobs recently?"

Greg was choking on air and shaking his head violently at John to make him stop.

Sherlock sighed and looked across at Mycroft, who was watching the drunk men with raised eyebrows.

"What now?" Sherlock asked.

"We take them home and hope this isn't something they plan on doing frequently."

With that goal in mind, Sherlock and Mycroft set about pulling the other men off the ground to stand up. Once that was successful, John and Greg were bundled into the car and belted in securely.

The drive to Baker Street was fairly silent except for the occasional giggling from John and Greg whenever they caught each other's gaze. Sherlock and Mycroft were doing their best not to get annoyed, but it was certainly taking a lot of willpower from both of them.

Finally reaching their destination, Greg and John were helped out of the car and up into the living room.

"Gregory, you'll be sleeping on the sofa," Mycroft explained. "You need to go to sleep now."

"John told you I want to fuck you," Greg said as he sagged down onto the sofa and let his head fall back, staring up at Mycroft. "You're gorgeous."

"Go to _sleep_ ," Mycroft repeated, pushing the man to lie down only to find his wrists being held tightly.

"Would you? Me, that is. Fuck me."

Mycroft hesitated before asking, "Is that a request?"

Swallowing nervously, Greg nodded.

Down the hall, Sherlock was leading John into his own room. He didn't trust the shorter man to be able to make it up the rest of the stairs in his current state and John wasn't in a position to complain either.

"Show me your pants," John whispered into Sherlock's ear before sliding down to sit on the mattress. "Bet they're tight on your arse."

Sherlock blinked at John in surprise. He considered it seriously for a moment before leaning forward to press his lips against John's ear. "I'll show you my pants if you show me yours."

John was shucking his trousers before Sherlock could finish the last word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good things come to those who wait.
> 
> Which is you guys, obviously. All of you. But mostly those of you who read the first chapter of this when I first posted it. You waited... and waited...

"Don't move," Mycroft ordered firmly, glancing down the hallway to Sherlock's room just in time to see the door slamming closed. With a smile, he looked back down at Greg and slowly began to undo his suit jacket. Greg's eyes were fixed on him, filled with a mixture of arousal and fear.

The jacket came off, folded neatly and draped over the arm of John's chair. Mycroft's vest and shirt soon followed and then he was taking off his shoes so he could slip his trousers off. He worked methodically, completely at ease and not at all worried about how much time he was taking. When he was standing in nothing at all, he reached out to tip Greg's chin up slightly as the man had been staring obviously lower.

"My eyes are up here," Mycroft said gently.

Greg blushed darkly and gulped. "Sorry."

"You asked me to fuck you, Gregory," Mycroft went on. "Is that still what you want?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Greg asked.

"You're drunk," Mycroft stated.

"I know, I'm sorry."

With a sigh, Mycroft shook his head. "Don't apologise. That is not in any way what I wanted you to say."

"What do you want me to say, then?" Greg asked nervously.

"Will you settle for fellatio?" Mycroft asked, swiftly changing the direction of their conversation.

Greg stared up at Mycroft dumbly for a few moments, his mind slowly working to figure out what he had been asked. The moment he realised, his eyes widened before looking down at Mycroft's erection.

"You want me to … ?" He trailed off, wondering if he would be able to concentrate well enough to give Mycroft an enjoyable blowjob.

Mycroft rolled his eyes slightly before sinking down onto his knees, his hands reaching for Greg's belt to undo it. "I don't want you to do anything. In this state you certainly wouldn't be able to accomplish much, anyway. So I will give you the orgasm you crave, but you'll have to ask me for sex another time."

Greg's trousers were pulled down to his knees, the man still unable to articulate anything he was thinking. When Mycroft's hands found his slowly growing erection, Greg groaned and tipped his head back in bliss.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I? God, it's wonderful."

Mycroft was silent, allowing Greg to believe what he wanted, while he instead focused on massaging Greg's cock to harden it further. It didn't take very long before Mycroft was confident the drunk man was ready and he smoothed his hands over his thighs. Knowing that Greg's inebriation would make it difficult to last long, Mycroft wasted no time in leaning forward and deep-throating him.

Greg let out a strangled cry, his hands gripping the sides of Mycroft's head halfway between pushing him away and pulling him down harder. Mycroft lifted one of his own hands, a gentle brush of his thumb over Greg's wrist being all he needed to make the man relax his grip and ease back against the sofa again. 

Bringing his head up, Mycroft lapped at the head of Greg's cock before sinking down again, falling into a rhythm which was easy to maintain  even  at a quick speed.

While it would have been nice to lie down with Greg and spend at least an hour learning each others sweet spots and just how well they actually went together, Mycroft was aware that Greg's body physically wouldn't be able to tonight. This was all they could both manage, but that didn't mean Mycroft wouldn't be coming back to him later like he had promised. Certainly, if Greg still wanted to be with him the next day he would not say no.

Barely a minute had passed before Greg was moaning again, his breath hitching and his hands flexing against Mycroft's face. "I'm gonna... come," he mumbled, his hands pushing gently for Mycroft to move back.

Ignoring the signals, Mycroft deep-throated Greg again quickly, remaining in place then as the man's hips beneath him bucked slightly and Greg came directly down his throat.

A moment passed and Mycroft slid his mouth off, sucking in a breath of air before coughing. He hadn't done that in a while.

"I certainly hope you enjoyed that," he said after his cough, looking up at Greg. 

Greg's eyes were closed, his head resting on the back of the sofa and his lips parted as he breathed slowly. He was asleep, and although Mycroft wanted to be offended at such a reaction to his talents, he could only smile.

Standing up, Mycroft dabbed the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand before reaching out to lie Greg down in a more comfortable position and tuck away the man's flaccid cock. He would probably be cranky the next day if he woke to a crick neck, after all. 

As Greg curled up on the sofa with mumbled noises of satisfaction, Mycroft gazed at him warmly. 

* * *

John blinked, his eyes sticking together longer than he wanted before he could open them and stare at Sherlock's near-naked form again. The man was standing before him in nothing but a pair of purple pants. They were, as he had predicted, very tight around Sherlock's body. The outline of Sherlock's cock was quite visible at the front. 

" Do you like what you see?" Sherlock asked him.

"Do I-? Yes. _Yes_." Why lie about it? John thought Sherlock's pants were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. As he stared, he realised that the purple was the exact same shade as one of Sherlock's shirts. The one he'd been wearing that same day, in fact. "You match your pants with your shirts?" 

"Mm." Sherlock smiled. "You noticed."

"Why do you do that?" John asked. 

"On the off-chance that you'll see them," Sherlock said with a wink. He then gestured at John's own pants, since they were both wearing nothing else as per their agreement. "Red suits you." 

"Thanks," John said. "Can I kiss them?"

Sherlock wasn't sure if he'd heard correctly and raised his eyebrows, tilting his head forward. "Sorry?"

"Your pants. I just want to kiss them. I've never wanted anything so much in my entire life."  John  slid off the bed without waiting for an answer this time, shuffling towards Sherlock on his knees.

"I could take them off if you want," Sherlock suggested  in a sultry tone , sliding his thumbs beneath the waistband. John's hands suddenly reached up to clamp around his wrists.

"No! I want to kiss them."

With his hands still holding Sherlock's wrists, John leaned forward and planted his lips against the soft cotton of Sherlock's purple pants. For a moment he did nothing more, but then he let out a quiet moan and began mouthing over the material. 

Startled, Sherlock gasped and stumbled back before catching his footing again. He couldn't understand why John was so fascinated by his _pants_ , but attributed it to the man's alcohol intake that evening. "John," he mumbled, freeing one wrist so he could run his fingers through the man's hair. 

John's tongue came into play then, licking the outline of Sherlock's cock so slowly that Sherlock was almost certain he would go completely mad if he had to endure it for any lengthy amount of time. What a relief, in this circumstance, that John would not have the stamina to torture Sherlock in such a way. 

John then let go of Sherlock's other wrist, moving his hands to grip Sherlock's arse tightly instead. As his tongue worked up to the tip of Sherlock's cock, John then pressed closer and began to suck. Sherlock's knees almost gave way before he could lock them in place again, staring down at John with his lips parted, trying his hardest to stay silent. 

Two and a half seconds later, he came to the realisation that he was going to come in his pants.

The first thought to run through his mind when he realised this was that he should push John off and keep any mess to a minimum. The second thought went something like _bloody-fucking-hell-if-he-stops-I'm-going-to-commit-murder_. 

The rush built up quicker than Sherlock anticipated and his hands fisted in John's hair as he groaned the man's name, his eyes closing. He felt his toes curling against the carpet beneath him and his hips jerked forward as John gave another flick of his tongue. 

Then it was fading and Sherlock sighed heavily, sagging forward against his friend who didn't seem quite aware yet of what had actually happened.

When John did pull back, at the encouragement of Sherlock's hands, he licked his lips and smiled tiredly.

"Now, bed," Sherlock ordered.

Surprisingly, John did exactly as he was told by turning around and crawling up onto the bed. He passed out instantly.

Removing his soiled pants, Sherlock took a moment to clean himself up before climbing onto the bed as well and spooning John from behind. He draped an arm over the shorter man, holding him in place and ghosting his lips across John's neck briefly. 

When John blearily opened his eyes a couple of hours later and nudged Sherlock awake, all he asked was, "Did I actually make out with your crotch earlier or was that a dream?" 

 


End file.
